A Man's Best Friend
by personalspacecas
Summary: Everyone has a guardian angel, and Sam and Dean Winchester know it-even if others don't. They know for a fact that if your guardian angel ever appears then you're as good as done for. And when Dean's own appears? Well he isn't sure what to think. And getting caught in a war between Heaven and Hell is not at the top of his to-do list. Destiel. Slight AU. Rating may change later on.


**A Man's Best Friend**

**Chapter 1: A Life Built on Tolerance**

**A/N:** This is my first Spn fanfic... So hi there~ Anyways, there's just a few things I'd like to mention. This is set in the Supernatural Universe, with Sam and Dean as hunters. John Winchester IS alive and Sam did NOT go to college. The boys haven't encountered angels yet, but they have to deal with the occasional demon possession. So basically, same universe, different story. Enjoy~

* * *

Dean Winchester was never one to believe in God. Religion and him? Well, they went together like oil and vinegar. You could put them together, sure, but they wouldn't mix. He liked to think that his relationship with the higher powers was built on the foundation of tolerance. Maybe it was there, maybe it wasn't, but he wouldn't pry for answers.

Angels though? He believed in angels—hell, he more than believed. Living a life as a Hunter ensured that you saw some pretty messed up crap while on the road. He encountered the monsters that were said to live under your bed and in your closet, he cut the heads off vampires and werewolves, and he certainly had dealt with Gods.

Gods—not God. As in the old Norse Gods, or sometimes Greek or Egyptian. God, though? Not a chance. And honestly, when the whole inquisitiveness about where angels came from or if there was a singular God just like the others, he didn't care to think about it.

Sure, the thought occurred to him, but it wasn't as if he paid it any attention.

Tolerance.

Everything was built on tolerance.

Anyways, about the angels. He had seen miracles happen, had seen men and women going into psych wards for claiming to have seen their own guardian angel. There was always the case where some idiot's eyes got burned out when they tried to contact their angel. There were always doubters, too, just like there were doubters of the entire Supernatural world.

Everyone had a guardian angel, though, even if they were the lowest class crappers known to mankind. Dean had one, his younger brother Sam had one, _everyone_ had one. But just because everyone had their own guardian angel didn't mean that they were able to see them. Sure, some people had seen theirs, like the people in the psych wards. Some people had even seen theirs and didn't go crazy, but it wasn't as if people believed them either (so they might have ended up going crazy, too.)

Somewhere deep in his chest Dean wished he could meet his, but at the same time he wanted nothing more than for that downy son-of-a-bitch to stay well away from him. Why? Because seeing your guardian angel was like a special note saying "Hi, you're as screwed as shit, so good luck with your downward spiraling life."

Nothing good came out of it, and maybe the people in the psych wards weren't there because they had seen their angel, but because of the other traumatic and life changing experience that had come with it.

But Dean was a hunter, and if his angel hadn't shown itself to him by now it was never going to. Or so he believed.

It had to be around two in the morning, and Dean was sitting on one of the motel room's beds that creaked with every movement he made. In his hands he held a needle and some floss as he stitched up the large gash on his bicep. A bottle of whisky sat at his feet, just in case.

Steam poured out into the room as Sam emerged from the bathroom, a pair of sweatpants hanging around his waist and a towel sitting on his shoulder. The flesh around his left eye was a sickly green and blue, and it was beginning to swell ever so slightly.

Ice would have done him good, but neither of them felt like going out of the room to find the ice machine in the main lobby.

"How're you holding up?" Sam asked, noticing how Dean gritted his teeth as he threaded the floss through tender flesh.

"Just peachy," Dean managed to say. Finally finished, he bit off the extra bit of floss before wrapping his arm in a strip of cloth from one of his old shirts, just in case. "How 'bout, before we take our next case, we actually find out what we're up against. No way in hell am I doing that again. Ever. You hear me, Sammy?"

Sam looked at his brother through the corners of his eyes. "We went up against vamps. Vampires. You know, the non-sparkly versions of the monsters in that teen-aged heartthrob book? The ones you have to cut off its head to kill?"

"I know what a fricking vampire is," Dean growled against his pillow. He lay sprawled out on his stomach with the remainder of the whiskey dangling in his hand.

"That's good."

Dean looked over at Sam who was sitting at his laptop. Already. They had just gotten back from a case and he was playing detective online _already_. He wanted to throw the bottle in his hand at the other boy and tell him to just relax already.

Their vamp case ended up including not one, but two nests down in Detroit. Sam and Dean ended up being caught right in the middle of an ongoing feud between the two nests. They both got out in one piece, but that was ignoring the fact that each of them had almost died when the vampires got tired of fighting each other.

And you know what? The hunt was long, it was exhausting, and it was most certainly something Dean didn't want to do again. All he wanted to do was sleep, and if that meant sleeping with springs biting into his aching limbs, that was fine too. And if Sam had another case for them tomorrow he would personally cut that boy's head off.

"Hey, Dean," Sam began, "do you think we can get to Wyoming within a day? There been reports of—"

Dean pulled a pillow over his ears and threw the other at his brother. "Shut up. I'm trying to sleep," he grunted.

"I'm just trying—"

"God dammit, Sam!"

"Geez, sorry." The sound of the laptop powering down along with the click of keys sounded through the silence of the room. "Goodnight, Dean." Sam's voice had softened, an apology tied in with the final words.

Dean couldn't be mad, even though he did want to strangle his brother to shut up at some times. So he said his own goodnight to his brother, his own personalized version of tossing his other pillow at him. At the tip of his tongue, however, sat the words that had been whispered to him night after night when he was younger by a woman with a gentle touch and loving smile.

It took everything not to whisper those words to his brother, partly because Sam wouldn't let it go, and partly because they were Dean's goodnight. The words were always his goodnight, and even when he thought them in his head he heard his mother's voice, whispering the words into his ear as he curled up in his bed.

"_Angels are watching over you."_

* * *

The next morning he was greeted by a pair of jeans in his face and a shoe on his stomach. It took him a moment to realize where he was, as went every morning on the road. Detroit, yeah, that was it. Vampires in Detroit. He gave a groan and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face into the bed.

He managed to sneak a glance at the clock on the bedside table. Seven in the morning. Sam wanted him to get dressed and ready for another hunt at seven o'clock in the goddamn morning.

"So it turns out that vampires aren't the only things here. There have been three suicides already this morning. Same type of victims as the vampire kills but without the blood drained. Middle-class, white males, each holding a steady job." Sam's voice rang out through the room, and it was as much as an alarm clock as Dean needed.

He pushed himself up from the bed. Sam was sitting on his own bed with a newspaper in his hand and one of those Styrofoam coffee cups in between his knees. Next to him was his laptop, the screen displaying a local news site.

"Good morning to you to. How are you this fine day? Good? Well, that's nice. Me? I'm fricking tired, so if you don't mind, I'd like to sleep." Dean threw the pair of jeans that were tangled in his arms down onto the floor before falling back down in an attempt to sleep. He could deal with messed up life later. Now? Definitely not now.

Couldn't Sam just give it a break for maybe two hours? Two hours! That was all Dean wanted, but it seemed his brother had other plans.

He had been digging up case after case for the past few weeks. When he couldn't find anything on his own (as in Dean wouldn't let him look for any more cases) he would end up calling Bobby down in South Dakota for practically anything that could be considered a lead.

"Listen, Dean, this is important," Sam began to say. Dean wasn't looking at him, but he could certainly feel his brother's eyes boring into his head as he ignored the bitchface.

Dean finally sat up and looked his brother square in the eye. "Everything's important." He sighed. "Especially breakfast," he added after a moment, finally giving in.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Breakfast?" he asked.

"Yeah man, breakfast. Unless you changed your mind and you want me driving all the damn way to Wyoming."

Sam shut his laptop and stood. "Breakfast sounds good," he said quickly.

"Damn straight it does."

After Dean had gotten dressed and made sure the Impala was packed with all their possessions (even though they would be back to the motel later on, the brother's just wanted to be sure nothing would be stolen) they drove around town before finding a small hometown diner.

The flashing OPEN sign in the window was their only concern as the brothers headed inside. The door opened and closed behind them with a dull twinkling of a bell, and Dean realized just then how much he hated it when places tied bells to their doors. He didn't know why, but it bothered him, and he didn't feel like thinking about it any longer.

A waitress seated Dean and Sam, and she handed them their menus before disappearing back into the kitchens. Dean watched her leave, watched the way her scarlet hair bobbed in its ponytail as she walked away. Dean wasn't a big fan of gingers, but that one? He didn't mind her, especially with an ass like that.

"Dean!"

Dean looked at Sam, blinking twice and removing the smug grin from his face when he realized that his brother had been trying to catch his attention for some time now.

Sam rolled his eyes and thrust the paper into Dean's unsuspecting hands. "Really, are you feeling alright?"

"Am I feeling alright? I think we should go over if you're feeling alright. What are you trying to do? Win the Hunter's award for most cases solved and most monsters ganked?" Dean folded the paper up once again and set it down on the table. He hadn't a clue what Sam's deal was, but if that boy didn't whip up soon he'd sit him right down and make him talk.

"I'm just trying to do our job," Sam said back. His words were a bit louder than he intended them to be, and he quickly glanced around the diner to see if anyone was looking at him. "That's it." He ran a hand through his hair and met Dean's gaze with his own. His eyes were narrowed, as if he was daring his brother to object with his reason.

But how could Dean say anything against his brother wanting to do their job, despite it being in a sort of rapid fire way?

It hit him right as the waitress came back over, a smile on her face as she looked to Dean first. Dean, however, was staring at Sam, his mouth slightly parted as his accusation hung at the tip of his tongue.

"Are you ready to order?" the waitress asked, snapping him from his thoughts.

Sam looked up to her and handed her the menu. "Coffee, and whatever your special is today." The pair looked over to Dean as they waited for him to place his order.

"Oh," he said before looking down at his menu. "How about some pancakes, haven't had those in a while. Coffee for me as well." He looked at the girl's nametag. "Thanks, Allie," he said with a wink.

She tried hiding her smile as she turned away.

Across from Dean Sam was fake-gagging. It quickly ended as Dean managed to land a good kick to his brother's shin. It might even be good enough to get him a bruise to match the one on his face. He deserved it.

Their previous conversation rushed back into Dean's head as Sam reached for the paper. All joking tucked away, he allowed his eyes to narrow into a glare.

"This is about dad isn't it?" Dean asked. It wasn't a question, and Sam knew it. But, apparently, his brother wanted to play dumb today.

A mask of false surprise covered Sam's face. "Dad? What does any of this have to do with dad?"

It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. He knew Sam. For goodness sakes, he was his _brother_. And he would have to try a lot harder than that to fool him.

Dean knew all about what had gone on between Sam and their father. Hell, he had been stuck right in the middle of it.

Sam here had wanted to get into college, had wanted to get himself a good ole education. Maybe even a fine job, a fine wife, and a fine white-picket fence in front of his damn fine home. Dean knew that Sam had filled out college applications in the dead of night or when Dean and their father were out doing God-knows-what a few years back. He knew that Sam spoke on the phone for hours with school councilors when he thought no one could hear him.

He knew that Sam wanted nothing more than to become _normal_. Hunting down monsters and ghosts for a living was as far from that kind of life as you could possibly get.

Somehow their father had figured it all out and went on a whole rampage about how ridiculous the idea was. Sam was going to throw away the family business for a normal life. It reminded Dean of those movies where the father and the son get into an argument and the son says, "I'm not throwing away my dream. I'm throwing away yours," or something along those lines.

Anyways, the whole fiasco had taken almost two months to blow over, and during that time Sam had actually stayed over Bobby's with Dean coming over to visit on occasion. And after that? Well, Sam seemed to have given up on going to college but the tension between him and their father was still something to be afraid of.

It was like a wave of electricity filled the room when both were in it. And, if you happened to be in the room along with them you were too afraid to stay, in case the storm started, or you were too afraid to leave, in case you triggered something inside them.

Eventually Sam fell back into the hunting life, but he did it on his own. It worried Dean more than he'd care to admit, so he left his father to be with Sam. Sure, Dean's relationship with his father became a bit strained, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He was more concerned about his brother and making sure he didn't do anything stupid.

"Dean," Sam said, snapping his brother from his thoughts. "I asked what any of this has to do with dad?"

Dean almost slammed his hands on the table, thoroughly annoyed with Sam's "playing dumb" tactics. "You know exactly what I'm talking about," he said. "All this hunting—you're trying to make up for the whole college issue. You're trying to prove that you actually are a hunter. And what happens when dad believes it—_if_ dad believes it? Are you just going to wander off to college thinking everything is fixed?"

"Dean," Sam repeated.

But his brother would have none of that. He simply ignored Sam until their breakfast came, and even then they hardly exchanged words.

Sure, Dean probably overreacted. Okay, he definitely overreacted, considering what exactly it was Sam was trying to do. He considered apologizing at some point during breakfast, but he was at a loss for words.

The silence between them was uncomfortable, and each of them shifted uncomfortably in their booth while refusing to meet each other's eyes.

It ended up being Sam who broke the silence. And, of course, it was with news on their new case that they would be taking today. Considering their little disagreement just before, Dean thought it was one of the worst possible ways to start talking again.

But if Sam didn't bring it up they probably would stay like that for the rest of the day, so Dean had to thank him for that. At least in his head he'd thank him.

"The deaths are basically the same, except there's no sign of vampires. They're all reported in as suicides, too," Sam was saying.

Dean nodded absently. Alarm-clock Sam had told him that back at the motel already. "So same victims, all suicides. Same as the vampire case, except now they have their blood in stock. Maybe this town's just experiencing one of those group suicides, y'know? A group of working men deciding to beat God at his own game."

Sam began to take some money out of his pocket, ignoring his brother.

And why? It wasn't as if Dean's idea was completely out of the picture. Okay, maybe it was, since things like that hardly ever happened when tied in with the Supernatural world. Hell, it never happened.

"Ready?" Sam asked, throwing the money down on the table.

Dean shrugged into his jacket that sat in the booth beside him, discarded when the diner decided to put on the heat in the place. "Ready."

* * *

Looking at the bodies at the morgue hadn't helped in the slightest. Each body had a different wound: one a knife in the gut, one a bullet in the head, and one had actually died of suffocation with a bag over his head.

The doctor wasn't a help either, saying that each of the men had been heading to work that morning, perfectly content—until the decided to pull the respected item of death out of their pockets and proceed to kill themselves.

The only bit of information the brother's hadn't yet known was that each death was spaced out over a half hour at a time. Almost exactly.

"Sounds like a possession to me," Dean was saying as he ducked into the Impala. He loosened up his tie and closed his eyes for just a moment.

"It sounds like a lot of things," Sam countered. "It could be witches—"

"Witches don't work with vampires."

"Vampires don't work with _anyone_. It could be some witch curse with a hex bag, a cursed object, and if it is a possession it could be either an angry spirit or demonic. We don't have enough to go on right now. Let's just… go to the scenes and try to figure this out."

Dean started the Impala, listening to the way it purred as he revved up the engine. "So we can get another case?"

He ignored the look Sam sent his way. It wasn't as if he was _wrong_. But this was just another one of Sam's moody phases and there was nothing to do about it besides wait it out. Sure, he didn't want to be stuck in close quarters with his brother while he was all "woe is me." If he just talked about it—Dean almost laughed. He was sounding like some hormonal teenaged girl.

But that was their problem, wasn't it? Talking about things, he meant. They never did, and that was just how life was. It would be nice for it to change, but they both knew it never would.

Even as they sat on in silence with normal life rushing past them as they made their way to the first scene, a small park at the edges of the city, they knew it more than they'd like. And that's just how it would be.

"Dean, stop the car!" Sam leaned across and grabbed the wheel from Dean. Tires skidded on asphalt as Dean slammed on the brakes, more from surprise than from Sam's demand.

"The Hell?" he demanded as they came to a stop. Dean pulled over to the side of the road, cursing as Sam leapt from the car. Lucky for them they were the only ones on the road, some side street they happened to turn down.

But, looking out to where Sam was running across to a small little group of benches, it seemed they weren't the only people.

A man was sitting on one of the benches, a bored expression on his face. He was clean and well kept, with his hair slicked back and a suit and tie on his body. Dean didn't see what the problem was until he noticed a knife in his hand, the silver blade catching the sun in a blinding glint, and he was out of the car just as fast as Sam had been.

"Hey!" Sam called out. His hand was digging into the waistband of his pants, grabbing at the gun he had tucked away.

The man looked up. He blinked, and his completely relaxed posture stiffened. With another blink his eyes turned black, and Dean wanted to tell Sam he told him so, although right then didn't seem like the right time.

Sam was almost at him, gun drawn without thinking. He knew that it wouldn't have any effect, but blind desperation had already seeped deep into his bones, the same as it had with Dean.

Dean didn't know what was worse: the fact that the demon was looking at them as if they were some afternoon show, or the fact that his brother was charging headfirst to said demon. And if that wasn't enough, when the demon raised his hand, the knife forgotten for just a moment, Dean's heart as good as stopped when Sam was thrown backwards, flying past Dean who ran towards the demon as well.

The way he turned on his heels, his booted feet digging into the soft ground, reminded him of high school gym class, when they ran suicides when the teacher got pretty pissed off (usually because of Dean.) He shook the memory from his head as he ran to Sam who lay sprawled out and thoroughly pissed on the ground.

He accepted the hand Dean put out and stood up slowly, wincing from the impact of his poor landing. Dean watched him for a moment, just to make sure Sam wasn't actually injured. He watched as his brother's eyes grew wide in surprise, and in slight disbelief.

Dean turned to follow his brother's gaze. They were hunters, bred reluctantly from the very beginning, and there wasn't much that could surprise either of them. But when the demon's eyes seemed to bleed white light, yeah, that was pretty surprising. The light consumed his body, rippling over his flesh and searing through his mouth and his eyes.

Dean tried to look on, his eyes practically falling out of his own head, but it _hurt_. The light was pure, and it burned everything around him. He threw his arm across his eyes, and turned Sam with the other in precaution.

After a while they turned back around, after their closed eyes were not filled with white light and the screaming had died out.

And, like he said, being a hunter promised some really weird crap. But this? This was a whole new level of it.

* * *

**A/N:** **I actually had picked Detroit from random, as in I actually forgot about the whole "Sam says yes to the Devil in Detriot" thing. *shrugs* Take this as a hint, why don't ya'll? ;) Anyways, consider this the first chapter of a lovely Supernatural fanfic that may or may not end up being rated M. Because, y'know, Destiel. Anyways, I'll try to have the next chapter up as soon as I can. Comments, suggestions, want to tell me about a whale you rode in Canada? Press that button right down below. Ciao~**


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